


Scorched

by Janet_Coleman_Sides



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Ambiguity, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janet_Coleman_Sides/pseuds/Janet_Coleman_Sides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is bedeviled between Leaps by the devil, once again in the form of Al. <i>"Them that dance with the devil's bound to get scorched."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorched

**Author's Note:**

> Well he went down down down and the devil jumped on his head  
> he went down down down stayin' in a broken down shed  
> he went down down down sleepin' in the devil's bed  
> he went down  
>   down  
>   down  
>   down  
>   down  
> he went down -- **TOM WAITS**

The leap seemed to be taking days, though he had nothing to keep track of time by, of course. 

It was just that he seemed to feel time passing, and Sam was beginning to be very bored, like 

Alice descending.

Either the leap was very long, or he leaped very slowly...was he dead? Lost midleap like a letter in the mail? He was so tired. He knew he must be alive, to be so in need of simple rest and heart's home. A dead man could not be more miserable than Sam was.

...Where had _that_ thought come from? 

"From parts of you only _I'm_ interested in," Al's voice resonated around Sam, pushing in at his chest, and Sam knew right away. He could tell by the shirt.

There he was, standing next to him in Al's rightful place, keeping up with Sam's descent as if he really were a hologram. But he radiated body heat -- too much body heat. Sam could feel it keenly.

The devil chuckled at him, and Sam wrenched his attention back to the extremely dangerous situation he was in. What the hell was the matter with him?

"Al" smiled at Sam in response to this thought, and Sam had to turn his head away.

"Good to see ya again, Sam," he leered. "You look _just_ like a falling angel."

"And you look just like my best friend," Sam muttered. "Why do you do that?"

A rumble of smoky laughter greeted this, and so knowing was it that Sam felt his ears turning red without quite knowing why.

"Don't be stupid. Who else? You have somebody... _closer_ to you than Al?"

Sam paused. He was missing something. The familiar smirk was chilling on this false face, and he dropped his eyes to the devil's tie-tack. It twinkled invitingly. Frowning, he squinted at it.

"I'm...not sure what you mean," he mumbled finally, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the tie-tack, fixated like a crow on the shiny thing. 

"You mean -- are you telling me you don't _remember_...?" The astonishment in "Al's" voice seemed genuine. It woke Sam slightly from his glamourie.

"Re...member what...?"

"What is Al to you? Really," the doppelganger demanded of Sam.

"My -- my best friend!" he blurted, surprised by the question, and yet suddenly it seemed to Sam that the next thing said was inevitable.

"He's your lover," said the devil. And he started laughing, heartily. 

Sam found himself shaking his head, but very slowly. He was feeling dizzy, feeling faint...he would have toppled if he were not already falling.

Sam shook his head again and became lucid. Any amount of time could have passed. He was no longer falling. Had he leaped...? Had he been hallucinating in the between place? He lay on his back in a rumpled bed. He reached to rub his eyes and found he could not; his wrists were bound to the posts on the headboard. There was a lazy antique ceiling fan swishing sullenly above him, and mosquito netting shivering in its tiny breeze.

It took the touch of skin against his own skin for Sam to realize he was naked. He was naked, and the body sliding luxuriously up his was naked...and indisputably male. He recoiled, gasping, but there was nowhere to go. He was bound like an animal, or a slave. And it was almost _Al_ pressed full length to him, his skin suffused with heat that radiated into Sam's own body. 

"Please allow me to introduce myself," he murmured against Sam's lips, "I'm a man of wealth and taste..."

"Stop it," pleaded Sam, voice ragged. "Please, stop this."

The devil considered him for a moment, pausing politely, resting his lesser weight and greater heat fully on Sam. Those so-familiar dark eyes pinned him down even more effectively.

"No," he said at last, and smiled brilliantly at his captive.

There was no malice in the devil's eyes: only promise, only invitation, only a ghost of Al pressing him naked into the bed, simultaneously rough and gentle. The shocking contact of another penis against his own, as alien as it was familar, made Sam gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered low in his throat as he felt his body begin to betray him. 

"Stop it!" Sam forced through his teeth, though the rhythm of pleasure was teasing at him... _will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?_ "I don't want this from you!"

"You've got it all wrong, Sam," drawled the devil from across the room. Sam's eyes flew open. The ghost of Al still pressed heat into Sam's trembling flesh, and yet there next to the window on the opposite wall stood his tormentor, eyeing the scene before him with a kind of wistful pride. "This isn't me...though I wish it were." His face, then, held such a sorrowful and intense hunger that Sam gasped aloud again. He was quickly muffled by a kiss, stunning in its intensity and precision. A warm hand slid under his neck and cradled his head, holding him still. Only then did Sam realize he had been twisting from side to side, slowly, like an anchored ship drifting around on its line.

"This is a memory. This is what my opposite withholds from you, as a reward for your slavery and sacrifice." The righteous venom in the devil's voice was bewildering, but there were even more bewildering things at closer quarters. 

_Memory?_

_"Ahhhh..."_ Impossible, this feeling: another man's cock, silky and rigid, caressing his own...this had never happened! _(Hadn't it?)_ Sam was soon as hard as Al, and he whimpered, though he tried to suppress it. The sound encouraged Al, who stroked against him deliberately, insistently, watching Sam's face. Sam closed his eyes, ashamed, but could feel those eyes just the same...from two places in the room.

But he could not stop it now, the rise and fall of his hips to meet the pulse of pleasure he felt whenever their organs were compressed together between their bodies: it was almost too much, too intense, but he could not stop rising toward it and falling away, rising...

"This always made it easier for you." This was the voice by the window, the devil's voice. "Your hands held down so you couldn't resist. You went and bought the rope yourself. It took a few experiments before you found some that was kind enough to your wrists. Sometimes your conscience made you fight pretty hard."

It was doing this now. His muscles bunched and strained as he fought the ropes, but he did not really want to get away anymore. He just felt he had to try...and his struggles allowed him to writhe against his lover, wanton and covert at the same time. Yes, he could believe this, almost.

Not quite, but almost.

Al's fingers dug firmly into the straining muscles along the sides of Sam's ribcage, causing him to arch even more till his chin was tipped back, his throat exposed. Al not so much moved forward as _flowed_ , swiftly, sinking careful teeth into that graceful, taut curve of flesh where his shoulder met his neck. It hurt, but he knew he was not being damaged: even as Sam twisted toward and away from the sting of his lover's teeth, the pain reached a plateau and held there.

And the longer it held, the more it began to feel good...

"He didn't really like tying you up," remarked the devil, and Sam gasped as Al's teeth released his shoulder. A quick broad stroke of the tongue soothed the bruising flesh...then that tongue wandered methodically down Sam's twisting torso. "It gave him nightmares, as a matter of fact."

"How would you know what he dreams about?" gritted Sam through his teeth as the tip of Al's tongue darted into his navel. He was painfully hard now, and near tears.

"Dreams like that are my business," said the devil.

For a moment Sam could see one of these dreams, _and it was a discordant shout of guilt and violence --_

_In the dream, Sam tore free of the cords that bound him down and in one swift motion his hands lunged to surround Al's throat as he reared up from the bed. Sam was snarling, the very picture of handsome brutality as he twisted Al around, pressing his face into the rumpled sheets, his arms pinioned behind his back. Al was strong, but Sam was far, far stronger in the dream._

_"Don't scream," rasped Sam, in Vietnamese, and --_

It was Sam who screamed then, afire with horror at what he had just seen, and he found himself staring in incoherent accusation at the avatar by the window, who only looked back at him with a hungry little smile. 

And then Sam's cock, straining with need, was engulfed in heat as Al's mouth captured it, plunging down about halfway, and he threw his head back and shouted out in agonized ecstacy. He had never ("Yes, you have," murmured the devil) considered that a man's mouth might feel different from a woman's, but indeed everyone's mouth was unique...Warm fingers wrapped firmly round the rest of his shaft. His train of thought blurred and fell back away from his brain and closer to the throbbing pulse of his rod, and the pressure of it obliged Sam to begin thrusting up, against the pressure, pumping into the mouth and hand of his best friend, sobbing with need...

Sam did not want to look down, he did not want to see -- the very idea filled him with guilty, excited anxiety -- Al's mouth crammed full of his cock, one hand a fist around it, other hand gripping Sam's hipbone, eyes shut, short black lashes against his cheek, eyebrows descended as if he were frowning. He didn't want to see this impossible, delicious atrocity...

Sam opened his eyes, lifted his head to look anyway.

It was as he had imagined it... _(I never imagined this! I...)_ ...except that Al was looking right at him, eyes glittering almost black with mischief and desire, mouthing his cock like a cigar \-- and Sam came, gasping and straining against the cords in exultation and dismay. Consciousness ebbed from him with every jerking heat-pulse of semen...

He slept for what he thought might be a few minutes, though when he opened his eyes again the light in the room had changed completely. Evening shadow painted tall window panes on the floor. Sam found his hands still bound, but he was not uncomfortable. In fact, his arms were spread in what felt like a delicious stretch. It came to him that however long it had truly been, he had not slept so well in far longer than he could remember.

His mind clamped onto what it suddenly _could_ remember: _Al_... 

"Right here, Sammy," said Al from the shadows collected by the side of the bed, out of his line of easy vision. Had he spoken aloud? Or was the devil really enjoying this game...

Sam told himself very clearly and slowly that he, Sam, was _not_.

"A lie, Sam?" This voice purred from another bank of shadows between the windows. (That was where his tormentor had been standing all this time, but the room seemed different...Sam could not have said if the difference was in the light or in the room. Or himself.) "Lies are supposed to be my business, too."

"That's why you're lying to _me_ ," cried Sam. Al emerged from the shadows and rejoined Sam on the bed, and this time he had a tube of lubricant and a condom. The condom struck a weird note in Sam, another tiny thread of confusion. That...seemed right, that there would be a condom. Al had always cheerfully confessed to being led around by his libido, but Sam knew he was responsible within those bounds.

"You're the one who isn't being honest," said the devil quietly. "Believe me, I know."

That last was meaningless, of course, and Sam did not want to think any further about the condom or why it was needed. He began to struggle against the ropes, in earnest this time, as Al attended to responsibility. His skin felt flushed, hypersensitive; he whimpered when Al touched him, but then suddenly ceased fighting, lay still, arms relaxing as he snarled, "Takes a liar to know a liar? -- _This never happened!_ " He would refuse to respond, deny his tormentor the satisfaction of watching him struggle. If he could not deny the reality of this, he would at least deny the devil one cheap thrill. This is what he told himself.

"It did," said the enemy, "and it's happening now."

Sam strained once more against the ropes as Al hooked his hands under Sam's bent knees and pushed his thighs back toward his chest, exposing him completely. He lay passive, repeating the litany to himself, _this never happened_ \--

Gasped at the cold slick jelly lavished on his anus, smeared around quickly by warm fingers so that it was not cold anymore, and the ropes creaked once more, though he did not struggle with his lower body at all. A finger slid inside, smoothly impaling him, and Sam wailed, a terrible, lost sound of despair. Or so it sounded.

But his hips began ever so slightly to rock as that finger slid carefully into him and backed out in such in a shallow, controlled rhythm, such a skilled and unthinkable invasion... When the one finger was joined by a second, stretching him gently, he groaned and opened his eyes.

Al sat on his heels between Sam's suspended feet, staring at his face intently. His own breathing was ragged, and he was biting his lower lip un-selfconsciously, his right hand around his sheathed cock. He had more lubricant on himself: Sam could hear the slick sounds of latex against the friction of the palm.

Seeming to take Sam's opening eyes as a cue, Al inched closer on his knees. Two fingers still stroked slowly ever deeper, and he held Sam's gaze as he positioned himself to replace them with his slick, shrouded penis. Sam whimpered, knowing it was time for another useless protest. _It never happened!_

Perhaps not. But it _was_ happening now. And he did not cry out to protest again. He did cry out, somewhat loudly, an amalgam of pain and pleasure, when it happened: deftly keeping to the slow rhythm he had established, Al withdrew his fingers and immediately pressed forward with his cock, not losing the rhythm, pushing in inexorably to his full length, and then _holding there_ , pausing for what felt like forever as Sam moaned, thrashed feebly, head swiveling from side to side in repetitive negation. And he screamed nearly full throat when Al finally, finally, began the slow rhythm once more, retreating and surging into Sam, wedged tightly and throbbing in the tight passage.

His cock had never felt so hard, and there was nothing he could do about it, bound as he was. The feelings radiating throughout his entire body from where Al was fucking him _(and that's what he's doing, oh god, fucking me, fucking me, oh god)_ were turning from pain-and- pleasure to pleasure alone, the intensity spilling into his rigid member, neglected and unreachable. Al's hands were on Sam's knees, holding him up and open. His head was turned slightly, so that Sam saw him in profile. His eyes were closed now, and the intense look of concentration made his features seem younger. 

Sam whimpered, pushing frantically forward against Al now, impaling himself even more deeply in search of relief. The need to come was growing desperate: it felt good to be fucked, he could not deny it. This was the most intense sexual experience he could even have imagined. He was painfully hard. His hands were bound. He wanted to cry.

"Saaam...?"

Al was looking at him, sharp bright eyes that missed nothing. Sam only moaned in response.

"There something you want, Sam?"

Held Sam's eyes as he lunged and withdrew, lunged...Sam was once again hyperaware of the reality of the situation, at what was happening here -- at some moments it was like a dream, at others -- 

_like remembering a word or a name that has been at the tip of your tongue for days and days --_

He tried to thrust up again at Al, draw Al's attention to his suffering. Al's eyes dropped, flicked up again instantly. But his face did not change.

"How can I give you what you want if you don't tell me?"

" _Damn you_ ," Sam shouted toward the figure by the windows.

"Don't look at me, Sam," came the voice from the darkness, so like Al's voice and yet so unlike. "I told you, this is a memory...Al likes to be talked to. Especially when you're tied up like this. Maybe he likes to be reassured that it's not rape. I showed you that dream."

It was just so absurd. Al held the gaze, held it patiently as he slowed his pace, and Sam could feel every inch of his cock sheathed tightly in him. His own seemed an extension of the other somehow: Al was the root, and he was the stem, longing to burst into flower...

"Touch me," he found himself babbling. "Touch me, Al, I need to come, it feels so good, I can't believe we're doing this, I can't get my mind around it, don't stop fucking me, please please Al _**ahhhhhhhh**_ \--"

Al had delayed long enough to get some more lubricant on his hands: then he complied with Sam's request, using both hands -- he needed both. Al's hands were not large, and Sam's cock was. 

Sam howled as Al's hands on his cock, and cock in his ass, and eyes on his face conspired to bring Sam's senses to the point of cataclysm. He felt his face changing, felt his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth baring and then mouth opening, neck straining back and arms pulling and pulling at the ropes which never gave -- felt the hands quickening upon him, felt the rod inside him suddenly harder and bigger and felt the rhythm grow more insistent -- managed to pry his eyes open enough to see Al's face.

What he found there, an expression of awe and ecstacy such as he had never seen on a man's face, pushed him over the edge, crying Al's name and arching hard with the force of his coming, semen spattering his belly and Al's in hot spurts. And Al cried out as Sam's muscles contracted powerfully around him. He arched his back, gasping, " _Sam_ \--" 

"Yes!" cried Sam, utterly forgetting himself in the literal heat of the moment as Al stroked deeper still. " _Yes_ , Al! _Come_ , Al, _come for me_ \--"

Al did as he was told, yelling, eyes clenched shut. Sam trembled and gasped at the muted sensation of spreading heat inside, at the sight of Al coming...

Was this the way the world really was? 

He didn't know anymore. He felt Al shaking as his breathing began to slow, and heard himself moan as the other carefully withdrew.

" _Al_ ," he whispered to the figure across the room.

*** ...And almost without transition he was unbound, and clothed, and falling again.

"Realistic, wasn't it?" smirked the devil, and Sam flushed all over with shame and rage. He had almost believed. Had believed, for one moment...

"Fuck you," hissed Sam.

He was seized with such force the air was snatched from his lungs: gripped by his shirt front and thoroughly, roughly kissed for several long minutes as he fell. The devil smelled good, Sam thought in a splinter of reason as his mouth was plundered by a tongue as agile as a serpent. Like sandalwood soap, like expensive cigars.

Like Al.

He was as abruptly released as he had been seized. He opened his eyes, startled to find that he had closed them. The devil grinned at him, with an expression of lust so intense as to be manic.

"I told you one true thing. You are not being honest with yourself about Al.

" _Now_ you may leap," said the devil, his voice very rough, and Sam leaped. 

***

Sam-that-was-not-Sam mock-gasped and turned away from the window, slanting a smile at Al that made him feel as though he had been stripped and searched with swift brutality. 

"The F-word! My goodness. Did he learn such strong language from you?"

Al just stared hollowly at the empty window. His eyes felt like scorched craters in his head. He felt as though he had been struck dumb. Either that, or there was nothing to say.

Then he was talking.

"What do you gain from this? What good does it do you to use him like that? If you want to stop what he's doing -- if the leaping is so inconvenient to you -- why can't you stop it without tormenting him?" His voice rose gradually till he was close to shouting. The word "tormenting" unexpectedly broke in his mouth and he swallowed grimly, trying to get control of his treacherous tear ducts.

"Don't forget I'm tormenting _you_ , too," said the devil, with wide innocent hazel eyes. "There are two reasons, though. One: I enjoy it. The two of you have caught my interest just now, and though you _are_ inconvenient to me -- I don't mind saying so -- at the moment it's worth it. Will it stay that way? Will I get bored with you? I don't know," he rambled thoughtfully, pacing around Al, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped just in front of Al, too close, invading his personal space. "The second answer -- why don't I stop the leaping -- is more useful to you, I think. What will you give me for it?"

Al set his jaw and said nothing.

"Oh, come on, Al." It was obscene how much he sounded like Sam. "You don't really think I don't _know_ the lengths you go to --"

"Fuck you," he forced through his teeth, fighting the frenzied trembling which threatened to fling him to the floor.

Another gasp, a little campier. " _Such_ language! Perhaps it was Sam who taught it to _you_. Poor dirty little boy, our Sam."

"What does that mean?" said Al, though he knew he shouldn't ask.

Not-Sam leaned against the wall and grinned at him, exuding sex appeal. Al glanced away, uncomfortable. Watching what had happened to Sam had been difficult enough, but he didn't think he could go through with it, not this time, not even for Sam. 

Not when it looked like Sam. 

"You know what gives me enough power over both of you to pull a nasty little scene like this? The only reason is this: you think it's bad. Like how you feel for Sam. You think it makes you weak, corrupted, untrustworthy, all the propaganda they drilled into you in the military. The things that happened in 'Nam weren't your idea, but Sam...you have ideas about Sam. It's only to be expected. "

"You're saying that me thinking I'm 'bad' lets Sam in for shit like this?" Al demanded, derisively gesturing in through the window at the darkened room with its rumpled bed.

"What? Oh -- you misunderstood me, I think. When I said 'you think it's bad', I meant you, _plural_. Sam is in love with you, you fool. It takes a great deal of conscious effort on his part -- effort he should be reserving for leaps if he ever wants to come home -- to hide it from you."

Al stared. He knew he should believe nothing he was told by this nozzle-to-end-all-nozzles, but every instinct he'd ever relied on was telling him that the truth was being told. Mostly because it hurt to hear.

"He's terrified you'll find out. He's certain you'll shove him away so hard it'd break him in half. He lost all hope after the Prescott leap. when you parroted all that same good ol' Navy propaganda... even after you were free to talk and 'recant' your 'opinion'. Even if you would admit that a man could love a man, neither of those men could be _you_."

Al winced. He wondered if he'd ever have a chance to explain what was happening at the Project then to Sam.

"And now it makes him miserable. I know all about it." He moved a little closer, smiling down at Al. Dammit, he smelled like Sam. 

He found his voice. "Can you stop the leaping? I mean, can you send him home without killing him?" he amended hastily, mind racing to cover devilish loopholes. 

"I can answer your question. First I want something from you," said the devil.

Al swallowed. "What do you want?"

"A kiss."

"That's _it_?" yelped Al, startled by the simplicity of the request after what he had seen Sam go through. Better not to start thinking about that again. This was not the time for...ideas.

A kiss, to bring Sam home? It seemed not too high a price.

"All right," he said, warily stepping closer, squinting up at not-Sam's face as if deciding his strategy of attack. The devil laughed. White teeth, full lower lip, _Sam_.

"Whoa there. Like you _mean_ it. A peck on the cheek is _not_ sufficient...and neither is thinking of Tina."

"Goddammit!" Al exploded, whirling away and pacing furiously, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

"That's sort of the general idea," said the devil quietly, smiling a little, though not broadly.

Al felt his mind whirling like a twister, with that one thought floating calmly in the ghastly light of the eye. _Sam? For Sam? Sam?_

Then he saw the beauty of it. How expertly the devil was playing them, pushing the envelope of what he thought they could endure: Sam his intense little fantasy -- and god knew Al, when similarly long-deprived, had thought up some pretty insane shit; and Al, a kiss...because of course the kiss meant more than the fucking, it always had for him. Kisses were the summit of intimacy. Well, and oral sex, but that was kissing too.

But the devil knew he couldn't push Al _that_ hard, not if he aimed to tempt, and temptation certainly was his aim. There was no doubt about that. 

Pushing him and Sam together. He waited for the flare of rage at being manipulated...

...but all he felt was a kind of guilty gratitude that made him reckless. What was the matter with him? Sam could come home -- could come home now! -- the false Sam turning real with his kiss. He was getting crazy, he knew it, but his mind was filled with the images and the _sounds_ , oh, the sounds of Sam's ordeal. _Sam could come home and make those sounds for me._

"All right," he said again, and stepped closer.

Ah, the devil did smell like Sam, trace of Ivory soap and hair smelling of that Aussie stuff, and the warm scent of Sam's skin, which he had never consciously noticed before. Really, the impersonation was perfect in every detail (or as much, he amended, as _he_ could tell). He even had the bleach-streak on the arm of Sam's favorite Levi's jacket right.

And the warm smile reaching into those green-hazel eyes, corners crinkling, crooked little aw- gee half-smile, lock of lightning-struck hair flopping forward over his brow...Al felt his heart constrict as he stood up on his tip-toes to reach. Sam's shoulders were so broad. Beneath the layers of denim and cotton, he was big and powerful...Sam had big shoulders for the whole world to rest on, but goddamn it, enough was enough! 

Mouth took possession, then. Claimed those warm sculpted lips. _Stop leaping, Sam._ How eagerly the kiss was returned, such perfect trust, and such fearless desire. _Sammy, come home now._ There was nothing about this that was wrong.

Except that it wasn't really Sam.

He pulled back then, but unhurriedly, loath to give up even the sweet illusion. Not-Sam stared at him helplessly, eyes glistening.

Al suddenly felt guilty, as if he had just hit him. _No one should have to be that hungry,_ he thought. _But that's all he gets from me and he knows it._

The doppelganger Sam moved away suddenly, paced around at the other end of the room for a minute or two, then came back apparently calm.

"Sorry. Blew my mind for a moment. Where were we? -- oh, yes. Sam coming home. Well, I'll tell you. Someone told Sam once that he was the only one responsible for his leaping, but they were only telling him a half-truth. He can't always remember such things, but you know quite well that Ziggy is Ziggy because of both of you. She is the daughter of her fathers."

Al only nodded. He had had thoughts very similar to this.

"And so it's not _Sam's_ will alone that keeps him on the job."

_What_?

"Both of you. It's both of you that perform the leaps, of course. Sam isn't the only inconvenience. In fact, he wouldn't be very inconvenient at all if it weren't for you."

Al did not know what to say to this. "If _both_ of you truly want it -- if one of you isn't denying his feelings and the other too scared to come home till he does -- then the leaps will _stop_ , Al. He's done enough -- _more_ than enough! and he'd be home now _if_ you really wanted him, and _if_ he knew it."

Al didn't know what to say to this, either.

"It's kind of ironic that I'm the only one telling the truth," said the devil that looked like Sam, and patted him on the butt before disappearing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first explicit slash story. _ahem_ I'm proud to mention that this story won a Slash Talent in Fandom (STIFfie) Award, for Best Quantum Leap Short Story, in 1996.


End file.
